


biscuit tins

by purinesoot (vivisuals)



Series: boxed-up memories [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Domestic Fluff, Gen, No Beta RIP, SBI family dynamics, Tommy and Tubbo are best friends, and a gr8 baker lol, phil watson is a good dad, this kinda happens in a minecraft world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27490459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivisuals/pseuds/purinesoot
Summary: philza is a bakertechnoblade is a lost piglinwilbur soot is an aspiring teenage musiciantommyinnit is a dirty crime boy (tubbo too)
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, No shipping - Relationship, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: boxed-up memories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017793
Comments: 18
Kudos: 385





	1. chocolate chip (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this cos i needed to distract myself and it worked and made me happy. i hope this will make you happy too.
> 
> for the crystal that will be mentioned in this chapter, it's something that child piglins give to people they know/think, feel and sense as their parents/parental figures. since techno was separated from his own parents, he has no one to give the crystal to and it's only when he meets phil does he feel safe around the latter. the crystal is some sort of imprint i guess (this is a rly shitty thing i made up for the sake of advancing the plot lmao).

It was quite the typical day for Philza. He had woken up at 4.30 am sharp at the behest of his alarm clock, freshened up, mosied down the stairs to his bakery directly below his apartment, start up operations and slowly got into the same, old, comfortable pace of flitting around the warm kitchen in the back of his shop, specifically _his_ bakery. 

It was quite the typical timeline for Philza. Early risers and regulars flocked to his shop while curious passers-by were intrigued by the alluring aroma of pastries that wafted out from the bakery’s door and onto the town’s street. It was, unfortunately, his lucky day as a line slowly formed. Sure, more customers meant more money but the everlasting problem of lack of manpower didn’t help. Philza hadn’t really had the heart or time to look for assistants to ease his workload, so serving a massive crowd of potential customers kept the former on his toes as he scrambled to pop fresh out-of-the-oven bread and cookies into glass display cases while rushing to the counter to accept payment. Today, the morning crowd was unusually slow to fizzle out even as the sun rose higher into the sky. Philza certainly didn’t think the timeline was typical.

Thankfully, the last patron parted with a warm smile and a crinkled paper bag of a muffin at 10.34 am, to which Philza sank down onto a nearby chair and sighed. Eyes scanning the empty chairs and tables taking up a fair bit of space in front of him, Philza noted to himself to prepare for the afternoon tea crowd where there would be a handful of customers wanting to savour their snacks in the bakery, treating themselves to a respite from their hectic schedules.

When he deemed his break over, the man stretched as he lumbered over to the back rooms where his dry goods occupied most of the space. In his peripheral vision, Philza spotted the back door to his bakery swung slightly wide open as the padlock had been tampered with. He looked at the lock, once, twice, then a few more times as panic set into his brain. The baker hurriedly trotted over to the opened door, an uncertain hand reaching out to hold the padlock as though it would magically enlighten him on what had happened.

A stifled snort then snapped Philza out of his trance and he jumped, the lock falling out of his grasp. Normally, he would have been embarrassed by his jumpy reaction and would have looked around to see if there were any witnesses. However, with the threat of a stranger lurking around his bakery after unlocking what he had thought to be one of the strongest padlocks he had ever invested, Philza’s priority was finding out the intruder’s identity as well as protecting himself and his shop.

With familiar ease, he unsheathed a short knife from his pocket and crept towards the source of the noise he had heard earlier. Entering the storage room where the snorts seemed to be the loudest, Philza pushed open the door and entered, his eyes darting around and getting into a defensive stance. In the room dimly lit by the sliver of light from the outside, Philza could see a small figure huddled between the yellowed rattan sacks of flour, a long red cloth swaddling them. 

In a burst of curiosity, Philza reached for the switch, bathing the room with fluorescent yellow light and startling the intruder. They rose up immediately, grabbing a wooden sword from their sheath and pointing it at Philza, growling. 

They, Philza noted, were a small piglin with a too large crown sitting on their small head. The heavy gold headpiece would fall slightly and cover its owner’s eyes, to which the owner would huff and push it up, hand never wavering on its grasp of the sword. A too long red-ruby coat trailed behind the piglin and chainmail leggings were fitted on the piglin. _A piglin, and a child no less? In my bakery? And they managed to fuck up the door lock?_ Philza’s mind raced with confusion and slight awe for the small and vibrating piglin child threatening to harm him with a wooden sword. Shaking his head, the man turned his attention onto the small figure, bending down cautiously, “Hey, hey. It’s okay, here lemme just-” 

He was reminded of the knife he was holding and quickly threw it to the side. “There! I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I just want to know why you’re here, that’s all.” The piglin stared at him hollowly and to be very honest, Philza thought he was going to meet his end at the hands of the child, according to the blank glare and confident stance the piglin had. After what seemed like a long staring contest, the piglin dropped their hand to the side but didn’t keep their sword. With a gruntled snort, they approached Philza and took out a heart-shaped crystal from the coat’s inner pocket, offering it to the taller one with their other hoof. Their posture had seemed to relax a lot considerably and their sword lazily swung from their grip, as though they had willingly let their guard down in front of Philza.

“For me?” Philza pointed at himself in disbelief at the sight of the precious gem, unsure of its purpose but still reaching out to retrieve it from the awaiting piglin’s hoof. The piglin grunted again but in a softer and more mellowed manner before letting out a yawn, their crown sliding down and clinking on the floor. Philza’s heart literally soared at the adorable sight and picked up the crown, chuckling in a fond tone, “Let’s head back up to sleep, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :D (960 words)


	2. chocolate chip (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo,,, i just realised i'm rly inconsistent with the word count lol. 
> 
> also, i'm unsure if i should change the pronouns for techno to him/his or i should keep them/they (i put the latter for this and the prev chaps cos i wanted to establish phil not knowing techno that well initially). u can tell me in the comments abt ur thoughts on this :D

The piglin snorted defiantly and twisted away from Philza, arms crossed and ears straightened upwards. In front of the younger was a bowl of mushroom stew that Philza had prepared earlier, who was holding it with an already sore hand. 

"C'mon kiddo. Just a bite for me, please?" The baker edged the bowl closer to the child, hoping the latter would relent and eat. When the piglin refused to acknowledge him, he conceded and placed the bowl down. All Philza wanted to do was to make sure the assumedly hungry piglin wouldn't faint on him after using his entire off day for sparring.

Damn, was it hard to be a caretaker, especially for a piglin whom he had just taken in a few months ago.

  
  


When Philza had led the piglin to his apartment that day, the smaller was almost half-sleeping in their walk up the stairs. They would have nearly bumped into a wall had Philza not gently grabbed them by the arm and stopped their movement. A surprised squeak emitted from them as they turned alert, a small hoof pushing the other's grip off of them. Philza was slightly taken aback by that; he had thought with how things went at the bakery the piglin had already taken a liking to him. 

"Sorry." he started out softly as he retrieved his hand towards himself. The piglin was silent for a moment but let out a grunt with a slight warning undertone. 

"I'm uh… Really sorry, mate. I won't touch you again without your permission, promise." Philza apologised with a heavy heart. A minute into this whole thing and he had managed to scare the poor child off with physical touching. He made a mental note to himself about it as he pushed the apartment door open and the piglin trailed behind him. 

Gesturing to the empty sofa in front of them, Philza had offered the piglin to take a seat, standing awkwardly as the younger made their way and plopped onto the furniture. Methodically, they untied their cloak ribbon and folded the clothing neatly before placing it beside them. Then, the piglin used both of their hooves to pick off their crown and rest it on the folded cloak. The piglin finally shoved off their chainmail leggings and boots, exposing bloody bandages wrapped around their legs as well as mottled bruises and blisters on their feet. 

Philza winced at the grotesque sight while he shuffled to sit some distance away from the piglin, anxious hands clasped together. After accounting for their belongings, the young piglin faced Philza and tilted their head as though they were asking him “what comes next?”. 

“Well those injuries don’t look so good on you kiddo,” the older started out, “I think I’ve got something to help you. Just hold on for a minute.” As he stood up to retrieve the necessary items, a muted snort stopped him in his tracks and prompted him to turn around. The piglin blinked with a rather forlorn gaze before shaking their head, patting the spot next to them softly. When Philza didn’t seem to react, they jumped off the couch to hesitantly tug on the former’s shirt. 

The child grunted as they pulled on the cloth until Philza finally moved. The piglin nodded their head once the older sat back on the couch before picking up a book with a red and gold spine and making themself comfortable at their spot. Snorting gently, the smaller poked Philza and pointed at the book cover that read “A Guide To The Nether: Complete Edition”. 

Philza was unsure of what to make out of the child’s intentions at first. However, the piglin had flipped to the contents page, beady eyes scanning the words before tapping on a particular number.

“Page 172?” Philza mused out loud and the piglin snorted, proceeding to find the designated page. The younger then shoved the book on Philza’s lap with a rather intricate drawing of a headpiece staring back at the both of them. A golden crown had three gem pieces of sapphire, topaz and emerald carved into its front. Another figure showing the back of the crown revealed more same-sized gems embedded as well. 

The piglin started to point at the two drawings, uncontrolled squeals of excitement wracking their body. They used their other hand to hold their own crown up high at Philza’s eye level and shook it vigorously until the man’s eyes lit up with recognition. 

“Your- _that’s_ your crown?” Philza nearly screeched. Christ, the piglin’s crown wasn’t just an ordinary crown; it was a much coveted one with multiple myths and legends surrounding it about its power, and the child he had decided to look after had somehow got their hands (or hoofs) on it. 

Philza had long understood the implications of one holding onto that crown: the piglins of the nether had tried eons ago to infiltrate the heavily guarded nether fortress and retrieve the crown as well as the many deceased or current adventurers of the overworld had done the same too. It was quite brutal that they only ended up dying quickly and painlessly by ghast charges, in a fiery, skin-blistering mess by blazes or by torturous withering effects by the coal-black wither skeleton guards. 

While Philza did have a tumultuous history of being an adventurer and warrior of some sorts, he had retired from the scene long ago after he was heavily wounded by an armoured baby zombie and then taking a good amount of damage falling while he made his escape.

That was the shittiest day of his life, he had thought to himself bitterly then as he was setting his twisted ankle back, pain building up towards his shin. Nowadays, the pain would make his ankle throb when he had to stand for long hours making dough or handling the cash register but it was nothing Philza couldn't handle. He wasn't an old person… yet.

A soft jab at his side made him jolt back to present. His head swiveled to the source only to see the piglin snorting and poking at their wounds lightly. Philza knew that wasn't the best way to handle any sort of wound, especially if the unclean and bloodied bandages were a sign to heed. 

With a surge, he got up and disappeared only to return with a first-aid kit. As he took out a fresh roll of plaster-white bandages, the piglin stopped with the poking of their wounds, eyes trained on the kit and its overflowing contents. 

"Yeah, fresh bandages just for you kid. God I hope I never have to use these on you again." Seeing the younger and their fair share of injuries made Philza's heart throb in an unfamiliar and aching way. However, he ignored in favour of asking the piglin if he was allowed to disinfect and replace their bandages to which the latter gave an acknowledging nod. 

After much fuss from Philza and a bit of reminding from the young piglin to keep physical touching to the minimum as much as possible, the child was brought to a spare room by Philza along with their belongings. 

Philza was unsure of how to take care of the other, only tentatively leaving a few necessities and showing them the amenities of the bathroom next door slowly. He also left them a word of assurance that should they need any help, he was just right across their room. When the piglin only gave a soft grunt, he closed the door and returned back to his bedroom.

For most of the night, Philza laid on his bed, playing with the red crystal given to him earlier that day. 

  
  


Now, the same piglin was being quite the brat for not eating the soup Philza made (and that mushroom soup was Philza’s specialty so he took it _very_ personally). 

“‘tato only.” The child finally muttered. It wasn’t very often that Philza would hear the child speak after the past few months of taking care of them and teaching them how to speak and write. Reading wasn’t a problem, nor was the child’s aural understanding of their conversations. They would usually not say a word during an entire day, only opting to write or give hand signs or communicate with piglin-esque noises. 

Today was Philza's lucky day, but he had still yet to solve the unfortunate problem of the piglin wanting to eat potatoes for dinner. "Aw mate, you've already eaten those for breakfast and lunch. I think you should-"

"P'ease?" Philza was cut short by the child and their tone made his heart melt like all those times they would look up at him with sparkling eyes and an almost grin etched on their face whenever he would give them a huge serving of baked potatoes. 

Philza knew he was gone and relented, pushing the chair to retrieve a raw potato and popping it into the furnace. "Tec’nob'ade." The piglin's soft voice eases the crackling of the furnace and the silence of the room. Philza spun quickly to face the younger and his eyes felt like they were bulging and on the edge of dropping out of his sockets. 

"Techno what?" The piglin's - Techno - pronunciation had improved tremendously over the past month but some letters were left out when they spoke. The smaller motioned Philza to come over to the table and when he did, they traced the word "blade" slowly on the wooden surface. 

“Techno _blade_?” The piglin in question nodded their head and then jumped off the chair, dawdling towards the furnace. As they scoffed down the potato ravenously, Philza could only smile fondly. 

A piglin who had only just revealed their name after months of living with Philza, was obsessed with potatoes, great at fighting and wore a precious golden crown on their head, was the most interesting kid Philza had ever come across.

And Technoblade certainly wasn't Philza's first and last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading :D


	3. chocolate chip (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! i'm really sorry for not updating this fic for so long :(( i had lots of holiday hw to do and i kept procrastinating. this chap is slightly (?) longer to make up for my absence and i hope u will enjoy the chap! 
> 
> also this takes place 3 years after the previous chap

“Get up kiddo. It’s time for school.” Technoblade involuntarily let out a muffled whine as a force tugged off his gown strewn across his body. He could hear the curtains being tugged away from each other and Philza sitting on the mattress edge as always, a gentle hand shaking the young piglin's body.

Today was the last day of school and Technoblade had been counting down from a month ago, letting out satisfied snorts as he crossed out each date on his calendar after running back home once school ended. Philza would smile to himself as his child would appear from a distance, his long red gown flowing after him. Technoblade would then slow down before entering the bakery to wave shyly at Philza (if he's lucky the piglin would give a hug). 

Philza could not tear himself away from his business to look after Technoblade all the time, something which he reluctantly did and had to tell the piglin weeks before the start of his first school year.

However, Technoblade merely nodded and had taken upon it himself to be independent, always sitting behind the counter scribbling his homework fastidiously, his crown usually teetering off his head whenever the piglin would tilt his head at a question he was unsure of. 

Most of the time, Technoblade would help Philza as a helper. The first time the younger had offered to render assistance Philza had stopped kneading dough abruptly and nearly teared up and he had to stop himself from hugging the other, knowing that Techno didn't really like physical affection.

Instead, Technoblade had launched himself at Philza to wrap his arms around the other's upper waist not caring about the flour-stained apron, mumbling something about asking Phil to refrain from crying.

After long working hours at the bakery, the two would head up to do what a normal family would do: eat, talk, clean the dishes, spar- Okay, maybe not sparring but no one could really blame Philza. He was taking care of a pseudo-son who was a piglin mob and had a precious golden crown and blossoming fighting skills. No one could blame Technoblade too. He was under the care of a baker who used to fight hostile mobs and other people during his heyday. 

At first, Philza had refused to let Technoblade go so far as to touch a sword, determined to give the child a normal life free from violence. However, the piglin had refused to attend school unless the older gave him access to the massive weaponry of swords and crossbows locked up in Philza’s bedroom closet.

Even then, the child still refused to say anything, frustrated and worried about how the other children were going to look at him when his piglin tusks were protruding out of his mouth and his snout stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Although Philza had already beaten him to those concerns and presented a pig mask, assuring him that there were students who walked around the school compound wearing masks and even armoured helmets, Technoblade was still huffing.

“What’s wrong bud?” Philza was bending his knees to meet the child at eye-level, voice full of concern. Technoblade still couldn’t get enough of the heart-warming tone every time Philza used to speak to him and he relented a little bit.

“Don’t wanna leave you Phil.” He mumbled, face turning almost as pink as the cotton candy-coloured baby hairs he had grown out across the past year. He crossed his arms even tighter as Philza went through an ongoing crisis at his son- his ward’s answer, brain melting fondly at the former’s sweet confession. He had restrained himself from cooing at the young piglin before giving him a hug, "I won't ever go far away from you kiddo. I'm always around you, I promise."

  
  


Technoblade sighed as he got up, hoof rubbing at his lidded eyes before being pulled away by Philza. Like clockwork, the younger took his time to freshen up while Philza set up a breakfast of apple cinnamon cookies which were Technoblade's favourite ever since Philza had baked it for a taste test and let him have the first bite. Technoblade thought that was the only thing he was ever going to eat, besides potatoes of course.

When Technoblade emerged from his room still drowsy with sleep and flopped down onto a dining chair, Philza slid a plate of cookies right before him. The piglin lifted his head with a jerk before reaching out blindly to grab a cookie, eyes closed as he savoured it slowly. Philza chuckled at the sight as he tucked into his own breakfast and only stopped his eating to call out Technoblade's name whenever his jaw stopped moving and his hoof dropped the cookie.

Once they had finished, Technoblade hastily scrapping the crumbs off of the empty plate before grabbing his satchel and mask, the father and son mosied down the streets. They talked and laughed about anything under the sun freely, enjoying each other’s presence before they headed for their separate ways. 

When they reached the school gates, Technoblade only gave a grunt of acknowledgement to Philza while fidgeting with his mask. He had taken a liking to the mask that made everyone tremble when he had stepped into the school compounds over the years. The way students, younger or older than him, had trembled and avoided even the smallest patch of area he would walk on made the piglin feel weird but in a good way. 

It felt like the times he had to swing his sword down onto strangers who had stumbled upon him and his crown, the times he had to pick up a bow to snipe strangers who he had seen across the terrain eyeing him with malice, that time he had to fend off squealing young piglins and their parents within his pack after having slain his own, all vying for the crown they had retrieved from one of their adventures to a well-guarded and fortified fortress.

Regretfully, that was all he remembered about them. All he knew was a pair of calloused hoofs passing him a shiny, gold object and another pushing him near a fixed nether portal while shoving a pair of flint and steel. Nothing was said to him. No cries of solace, no murmurs of well wishes: nothing. Technoblade had convinced himself it was because they had been dragged away too far from him. 

Yet, Technoblade was glad Philza found him. He had more memories with the man in the overworld than he ever had when he was all lonely in the nether, his parents often absent due to their adventuring. 

The last day of school was uneventful. Technoblade didn’t mind the terrified gazes burned into his entire body as he walked around the school building to get to his classes. He wasn’t fond of the students and their patronising ways when he first arrived. His classmates had swarmed him during that day’s break period, all gushing and offering him items to try and get his attention. 

In the end, Technoblade retrieved out a butter knife from his gown and growled at the crowd. He had waved it skillfully in front of a rather annoying student who was the first few to pester him and it had sent all of them running away. Philza was not particularly happy when he returned home with a warning slip and missing cutlery.

Technoblade squirmed and fidgeted in his seat as the clock moved its hands torturously slowly. The teacher was droning on about homework to be done and topics to be revised over their break. If Philza had teased him about his monotonous voice, Technoblade was sure that the older wouldn’t mind taking on his teacher’s drowsy speech manner. 

“That’s all I have to say. You are dismissed.” A screech of a chair broke the millisecond of silence before chaos erupted as Technoblade flew out of the classroom, his legs pushing him out of the building and into the streets towards Philza’s bakery. Technoblade couldn’t help but grin as the bakery appeared on the horizon and he picked up his speed.

Coincidentally, Philza’s last customer for the morning had just exited when a pink and red whirlwind dashed through his shop’s entrance. He faintly registered the sounds of drawstrings being pulled and the hasty rummaging of a solid object before Technoblade appeared in front of the counter, arms akimbo proudly.

The piglin greeted the other with a more excited tinge in his usual dry tone. Philza smiled at Technoblade’s excitement and rested his arms on the countertop, “Can’t wait for your old man to close up huh?” Philza had promised Techno he would take half day off on the last day of school to have an extra long sparring session. Plus, he had a surprise waiting for Techno! The younger was buzzing from excitement and curiosity, wondering if it was a handcrafted sword or shiny armour made by Phil himself.

“Uhuh, you can’t back out now dad. I have a great memory and I even remembered every word you said that day.” Technoblade’s smile stretched wider into a beaming grin and Philza leaned over to adjust the precarious crown on the former’s head. “Alright Techno, let’s do this.”

Philza gave Technoblade his first ever crossbow that day and the younger pounced onto the other to give his father a warm hug. Philza closed his eyes and reciprocated it immediately, feeling hot tears wetting the crook of his neck.

“Techno come help your old man!” Philza’s voice rang out from the kitchen. In a flash, his son had appeared by his side and swiftly took the heavy tray of cookies out from Philza’s grasp. With a hurried ‘thank you’, the older rushed to handle another batch of cookies that were sitting in the oven, ready to be taken out.

“You should invest in an assistant dad. I can’t let you spend all your savings on betting predicted champions of future elytra competitions.” Technoblade joked as he placed some cookies on a cooling rack. Philza snorted as he opened an oven, rushing heat tingling his arms. They bustled in the kitchen until the swing of a door could be heard and chatter filled the silence outside the kitchen. Philza looked up at the clock in the room, it was time for tea break.

The shop grew more congested as the father and son duo flitted to and fro between the cashier counter and the kitchen. It was just another typical day working at their bakery, or so Technoblade and Philza thought.

At the same time, a ragged teenage brunet dragged his feet onto the warm cobblestone streets of an unfamiliar town. He wore a slightly tattered shirt and long black pants, a black jacket slung over his right shoulder. Underneath the piece of clothing was the black strap of a guitar case. 

Coins jingled with each step the person took as he trudged on. His brown hair was long and curly and every once in a while he had to lift his hand up wearily to brush the untamed curls away from his tired eyes. Just like his name, Wilbur Soot, his shirt has light, soot-coloured patches dotting it.

As the boy made his way into the more bustling areas of the town, he spotted a quaint building that looked like a shophouse. The lower unit made the building the most prominent one as large groups of people drifted in and out of it. When he got closer, there was an aroma that stabilised his trembling hands and warmed his aching heart. 

_Chocolate chip!_ Wilbur found himself standing in front of the glass windows of a shop. As he peered in, he could see a mop of blond hair peeking out from a long queue of people that stopped short at the entrance. A figure nearer to the curious boy was diligently stocking up near empty glass cases with pastries and bread. _Seems like an assistant of sorts_ , Wilbur mulled in his head as the other person turned around.

Then, both of their eyes met, black irises meeting brown ones and Technoblade winced at the sudden eye contact. Wilbur blinked his eyes when he saw the stranger's face contort grimly but he could not take his eyes off the menacing pig mask and matching pink hair of the latter. Wilbur thought the other boy fit the part for an anthropomorphic pig.

Meanwhile, Technoblade could feel himself blush at the meaningful and wanderous gaze from the boy standing outside Phil's shop. He spun on his heel and quickly escaped towards the counter where Philza was placing pastries into a paper bag for a customer. Aware of his mask, the piglin scrubbed his face anxiously and took a deep breath. 

"That was weird," he had muttered as the customer left with their paid goods. Philza, still busy with the cashier inquisitively replied, "What's weird Techno? I thought you saw something outside of the shop." 

Techno spoke, "This boy with a huge guitar case was staring back at me from outside the shop. Freaked me out quite a bit." The younger rubbed his legs together, a habit he had developed some time ago whenever he felt off.

Philza shifted his body and whistled when he saw said boy whose back was facing their windows. A guitar case was left open on the street and his arms were fidgeting, perhaps from tuning his instrument.

"He's a busker heh? Haven't seen a single one around here before." Philza had turned to his piglin son who was also peering at the same direction, ears all perked up from behind his mask. 

After a moment of silence, the strumming of a guitar started playing and the saccharine voice of the teenage busker filled the streets and the inside of the shop. Many of Philza's patrons who were seated inside his bakery enjoying their snacks had their heads turned to the windows, intrigued by the unfamiliar yet soothing voice of the boy. 

Wilbur’s eyes were closed as he reveled in the musical atmosphere, singing the lyrics that he had spent so much time and effort and meaning on, that he had written and rewritten and drafted time and time again late at night when his parents slept and the cold wind blew into his room.

Many walked by without blinking an eye at him and only a handful of generous passers-by dropped mostly coins or the occasional dollar note. Wilbur wasn’t fazed by that scenario, merely choosing to focus on the music he made and showcased to strangers. 

Even when the bakery’s throng of patrons left the shop and the late afternoon sun was slowly setting in the horizon, Wilbur continued singing song after song, strumming tune after tune.

Finally, he stopped when he deemed his fingers too numb to move at all. The teenager could feel his back creak as he stooped down to collect the money thrown carelessly into his guitar case. Perhaps he had earned enough money to buy a chocolate chip cookie from the bakery behind him. 

After settling his belongings on his shoulder, the boy stepped into the shop and made a beeline for the trays and tongs area. He could feel the inquisitive stares of the owner and the boy from earlier prickling his back. However, Wilbur ignored the feeling as he took his desired cookie out from its display case, stomach grumbling quietly at the slight whiff of chocolate. 

“A dollar and twenty cents please.” The blond man at the counter chirped as the cashier dinged to life. From the corner of his eye, Wilbur saw the boy sitting with his back facing the man, engrossed in a thick paperback book. As Wilbur scattered his coins on the countertop and sorted them out, the man cleared his throat, “So you’re new around here?”

Wilbur froze but regained his composure as he pushed the correct amount of money towards the man, nodding sharply. The man continued to make small talk with him that quite frankly, made him feel a bit more at ease until a monotonous voice suddenly rang out, “Y’know, it was real smart of you to busk outside our bakery just now. Now the thing is you’re using our territory to earn money and that payment for the cookie is quite a meagre amount so-” “Techno.” Philza gently interrupted his son and the piglin immediately stopped speaking, huffing something under his breath before returning to his book. 

Philza smiled at the confused teenager in front of him. “Sorry about that. Techno was just joking about the money thing.” Wilbur warily nodded at the older as his eyes flitted between the latter and the boy named Techno. When the blond gave a packaged cookie to him, Wilbur stumbled out of the compound quickly and Technoblade lifted his head to catch a glimpse of a tuft of curly brown hair disappearing round the corner.

Over the next few days, Wilbur sang under the warm morning sun and hot afternoon rays in the day. At night, he bought not enough food with the money he earned and slept on a cold park bench or found shelter in freezing, unoccupied open-air stalls under the moonlit starry sky. 

The teenager also avoided the bakery and its surrounding area. The blond male of the shop had asked too many questions too nicely for his liking and the boy with the pig mask had scared the fuck out of him with just one question.

However, Wilbur came to realise his busking at any other spot especially during the mid to late afternoon period raked in very little money. Although the young musician was extremely reluctant to move to the outside of the bakery, he still set up his instrument there during a day when he had finally gritted his teeth and dragged his feet.

He continued to busk at that area and he continued to buy a chocolate chip cookie from the bakery (or maybe two when he felt like he deserved it) until he grew bored of its sickeningly sweet taste and switched to other treats. The blond owner still interacted with him and even cracked a few jokes that made Wilbur smile while wrapping up his purchases _very slowly_. 

Techno, who Wilbur later found out to be the man’s son through their daily talks, would at first sit beside his father reading the same damn book. However, he started to become less bothered about Wilbur’s presence and would acknowledge the brunet with a curt nod or soft grunt that reminded Wilbur of a pig. Occasionally, Techno would also take the initiative to go outside and talk to Wilbur, joking around in a dry tone. 

Wilbur liked the boy not just for his humour, but also the way he treated Wilbur like he wasn’t some weak, pitiable animal but just a peer passionate and had the same interest towards music.

Wilbur had planned on leaving the town after a few months of busking, knowing that his usual audience would grow tired of his presence and his repertoire of songs and tunes would be used up. However, the kind, friendly bakery owner, his son who was gradually opening up and their presence would grow on him, leaving an indelible mark on his walled-up heart.

Philza had also grown to like Wilbur and see him as his other son, much to Technoblade’s surprise and apprehension. The piglin wasn’t sure if he had made a good first impression but with his father’s encouragement and interactions with Wilbur, Technoblade had admittedly grew fond of the brunet. In his heart, he had already considered Wilbur his first friend.

All three weren’t sure if they could let go of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :D (3293 words)


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